Can't Fight This Feeling
by Deb3
Summary: CSI Miami. This is a sequel to Fearful Symmetry. Horatio blames himself when Calleigh is wounded on the job.
1. Default Chapter

This story follows Fearful Symmetry. Once again, you must read that one first to get all of the undertones and background here. Someday, I may take off in a different direction, but I loved FS so much and had such a ball with it. That story grew a life of its own, and it won't let me just drop it. So for this one and also for the next story, now in the works, everything builds from Fearful Symmetry. This story is completed, but I have to find time to actually write all the parts down. Thanks for all your wonderful feedback and support; you guys are fun to write for.  
  
Disclaimer: Not my characters, but if CBS wants to take notes, I will donate any H/C inspiration they get from this free of charge.  
  
Rating: PG-13.  
  
Dedication: To the late, great Jimmy Stewart, a wonderful actor who made my all-time favorite fluffy, purely good feeling happy ending film the huge success it was. And if you don't know already, you will guess which film that is by the end of this story.  
  
***  
  
"I can't fight this feeling any longer, Yet I'm still afraid to let it go . . ."  
  
REO Speedwagon  
  
***  
  
Calleigh could never remember being so happy. Not that she had a great deal of experience of happiness to choose from, but for once, everything in life was fitting together. The last two months had been like a dream, and she had finally allowed herself to relax fully into living it. The shadow of doubt, the voice that said that her newfound joy would shatter, had finally been put behind her. Tonight, there were no doubts.  
  
The source of her joy (and her doubts, came that voice like a ghostly echo in her head, quickly suppressed) held her attention completely captive at the moment. She was sitting on his couch, and he was playing the piano for her. Two months ago, she had not even known that he could play; now, she lost herself totally, not only in the music, but in the sight of him. The lines of his face had softened, his eyes still focused but not sharp, not analyzing the music, just enjoying it, enjoying her enjoyment of it. She longed for a camera, to capture this moment forever, but if one had been there, she would not have moved. Mental pictures were sweeter. His hands, as graceful as the rest of him, reached for the last chord, brought the music together in a final perfect harmony, and then lifted, letting the sound fade away gradually in the room. Calleigh let out a sigh of pure contentment.  
  
Horatio looked over at her, the easy smile that she still marveled at lighting his face. Once she would have thought nothing could improve his already impressive looks, but the relaxation he had been trying on tentatively the last few weeks, like one tries on a new garment in the dressing room before buying, made him even more handsome. She could not know that he was thinking exactly the same thought, eyeing her curled up like a cat on the end of his couch, utterly at ease, with no defensive edges. Such an incredible change. She got more beautiful every day.  
  
"You're wonderful," they both said at exactly the same moment, then both laughed. He stood up and came over to the couch, sitting down next to her, and she reversed her curl, snuggling against him instead of the armrest. He put an arm around her shoulders, his fingers lightly playing with her hair.  
  
"Alexx asked me earlier today why I'm suddenly so happy lately," he said.  
  
"What did you tell her?" They hadn't broadcast their relationship at CSI, preferring to discover it themselves before the rest of the office analyzed it, but looking at Horatio tonight, Calleigh wondered how on earth anyone could keep from seeing the change.  
  
"I told her I'd found my guardian angel." He chuckled softly. "It wasn't a lie."  
  
"She's probably already put the whole thing together weeks ago." She turned a bit, to face him. "We can't hide this forever, you know."  
  
"I know," he said. "I've just been waiting . . ." He broke off, and she knew from his eyes that he was somewhere else suddenly.  
  
"Waiting for it to disappear?" She wanted him to know she understood. "Like it always has?" He shuddered slightly, and she slipped an arm around him in turn. No, she reminded herself, her close relationships had always disappeared. Horatio's had always been murdered. "I'm not going anywhere," she reminded him. "But I've felt the same way. Waiting for something to go wrong, somehow. But Horatio." She waited a moment, waiting for his eyes to come back to her, wanting his full attention. "I don't want to wait any longer for what might happen. I don't want to waste life. None of us know what will happen tomorrow. Can't we stop worrying about tomorrow and just enjoy today? Enjoy the magic now?"  
  
His eyes, meeting hers, were serious. "I think I would like that, but are you ready?" How she adored this man. To stop and ask, on the brink, if he was pushing her. All her previous fears about losing her identity in relationships vanished. He had so much respect for her as a person. Surely that would never change.  
  
"I'm ready if you are," she said, and it wasn't a flippant response but a question, trying to extend him the same dignity he gave her.  
  
He did not answer in words. Instead, he pulled her across and kissed her. She surrendered her soul completely, knowing it would be safe here. His surrender matched hers. And his cell phone rang.  
  
"No," she said, softly but urgently. "Don't answer it." Of course he would answer it. He had too much sense of the responsibility of his job to ignore a phone, a possible call for help.  
  
"Horatio." The relaxation dropped off him suddenly, and the eyes sharpened. She could not hear the other end of the conversation, but she knew what was said. Resigned, she slid away from him, found her shoes, and began to put them on.  
  
"Where?" She found his shoes and brought them to him.  
  
"Hudson Street." His eyes were as sharp as lasers. "A child was killed." Calleigh's own heart broke instantly. She did not ask anything further but gathered her things while he picked up his gun and badge, and they left the house in silence, in unison of outrage.  
  
***  
  
Horatio parked the Hummer behind the growing line of emergency vehicles. An ambulance, two police cars. The ambulance crew were working on a woman who was struggling against them, and Horatio slipped up beside the nearest policeman. "The mother?" He nodded toward the tableau of hysteria.  
  
"Right. Single mom. She went out to the store. Left her 14-year-old home with her 5-year-old, who was asleep. She was only gone 30 minutes, came home to find the house in a shambles and the little girl dead."  
  
"And the 14-year-old?" Calleigh was afraid to ask.  
  
"Vanished."  
  
Horatio eyed the mother, then turned away toward the house. She simply was not in any condition to be questioned. Already her hysteria was subsiding into drug-induced cooperation, still wracked by soft sobs. He and Calleigh entered the house reluctantly, yet decisively. A child had been killed. Neither of them would leave this case until the killer had been brought to justice.  
  
The little girl lay in the door of her bedroom, clad in a pink blanket sleeper. Horatio knelt beside her sadly, then looked up and down the hall and into the bedroom. "No signs of struggle in the bedroom. She came to the door on her own."  
  
"She heard the perp after her sister," suggested Calleigh.  
  
"That's how I see it. So she came to the door, and the killer shot her. What would you say the range was?"  
  
Calleigh studied the wound and the spatter on the doorframe. "10 or 15 feet. The pellets had started to spread. There are a few in the wood of the doorframe. 12-gauge, probably."  
  
"Odd weapon for a sexual predator."  
  
"You think it was sexual?"  
  
"The older girl is missing." Horatio's eyes were hard, brittle. "This one just woke up at the wrong time. He didn't want a witness, but he wasn't interested in this one. Too young. He took her sister with him." He stood up abruptly, quiet fury etched in every inch of him, and whipped out his cell phone. "Butch? Horatio. I need you and your best dog right away." He gave the address and snapped the phone shut with a decisive click.  
  
"You're thinking of tracking the girl?"  
  
"Right. The mother was only out for half an hour. They don't have too much of a lead. Maybe for once, we can help someone before death, not just after." Calleigh touched his arm lightly with her gloved hand, but she did not try to soften his mood. She understood herself, God knew, how frustrating this job could be at times. Especially to someone as sensitive as Horatio. He looked about as sensitive as an armor-plated tank at the moment, but that was just a front for the times he was most moved. Still a dangerous tank, though. The appearance was not an empty threat. If she were the killer, she would be frightened to find this man on her trail. He will get you, she promised. Look over your shoulder. Horatio is coming.  
  
Speed, Delko, and Alexx arrived in turn, and the standard crime scene processing began, but there was an unusual hush over all of them. The murder of a child was never just another crime scene.  
  
Butch arrived with a bloodhound in tow, the large dog straining against the leash. Horatio handed over some of the older girl's clothes he had fished out of the laundry. Calleigh slipped up alongside him as the handler bent over his dog. "Let me come with you," she pleaded.  
  
"You're needed here."  
  
"Speed and Delko can start things back at the lab," she said. "But I don't want you out there without backup, in case something goes wrong." For one second, she saw the gratitude in his eyes before the anger settled back over them. Not since his mother had anyone been protective of Horatio. It still caught him by surprise. "Okay," he said, his voice softening for a moment. "Speed, Calleigh's with me. Keep me posted."  
  
"Let's track," said Butch, and the dog leaped forward, almost tripping over his long ears in his eagerness for the quarry. The trail was fresh, just a few hours old, and the three people had to run to keep up. The trail was twisted, deliberately confusing, except to the dog. This perp had not wanted anyone following him. Still, the dog's acute sense of smell picked out the human target with ease from the traces left on the street through the getaway car's venting system. The pattern of turns gradually revealed a path toward the north. The further they got from the crime scene, the straighter the trail became.  
  
Calleigh was glad she ran regularly. "If he lives up here, he sure went a long way for her," she panted.  
  
"Right," said Horatio. He was actually sweating a bit himself. "No way this was random. But I'd already decided that at the scene."  
  
"How?"  
  
"The mother was only gone 30 minutes. Too tight a window to be coincidence. He was watching, and waiting. He wanted this girl."  
  
"Maybe he saw her or her picture somewhere," Calleigh suggested.  
  
The bloodhound had quickened to a gallop, and now he lifted his head abruptly and let out a deep bay. Lights snapped on in the darkened houses. "Shut him up, can't you?" said Horatio.  
  
"Sorry," said Butch. "They bay when they get close to their target. It's inbred."  
  
"Stop him here, then." Horatio had to help Butch pull the dog to a halt. The animal still lunged against the leash, and another bay escaped him before Butch clamped a hand around his muzzle. The street they were on was a dead end, and the dog's eyes and nose were pointed like a weathervane toward the house at the end. Horatio quietly called for backup and helped Butch pull the dog around a corner. The animal fought them every step of the way, determined not to be cheated of the prize at the end of his chase. Butch finally had his dog settled down, and Horatio pulled his gun out. "Let's give it a preliminary check-out," he said. "It will be a few minutes before backup gets here, and the girl. . . " He did not complete the sentence, but Calleigh knew that every second could count here. She drew her own gun.  
  
The house was dark, quiet. Lights had gone on in several others since the dog bayed, but in this one, the occupants were either hiding or absent. Or dead, Calleigh thought with a shudder. Please, God, let us be in time. She and Horatio slipped up to the house, staying in the shadows. Calleigh was too short to see in the front window, but Horatio could just do it, standing on tiptoe. He put his head right up next to Calleigh's and whispered, "Someone is lying on the couch. Totally still. Too dark to see who. Not conscious." At best, not conscious. Calleigh could feel his dilemma herself. Enter the unsecured house to try to help the girl? Wait to secure the house and possibly be too late to help the girl? They took one quick, quiet lap of the house. There was nothing to be seen in any of the other windows. Horatio tensed up, and she felt his decision and pulled her own gun up at the ready. "I'll cover you," she whispered.  
  
"Miami-Dade police!" Horatio hit the door with a force that burst it open, immediately darting to the side, toward the still figure on the couch. Calleigh was right behind him, but she did not allow her attention to go to the girl - and it was the girl, she read that much from Horatio's sharply indrawn breath. She stood with her back to the doorframe, her eyes seeking out movement in every corner. "She's alive," said Horatio. "Thank God." He pulled out his cell phone, calling quickly for an ambulance. Then he slipped off his jacket and covered the unconscious girl on the couch with it. He crossed back over to join Calleigh in the doorway, still wary. "Should we search the rest of the house?" she said.  
  
"Better wait for . . ." The sentence was never completed, cut off by Calleigh's yell as she saw a movement at the end of the dark hall behind him.  
  
"Down!" she shouted, and he dropped instantly as she fired. Two shots rang out together, Calleigh's just enough after the other that it sounded like an echo. Calleigh herself crumpled, and Horatio caught her before she hit the floor. He instantly spun back in the other direction, his own gun ready, but there was no need. A sharp sound of breaking glass and a gust of fresh air up the hall announced that the perp had made a new back exit.  
  
Horatio turned back to Calleigh quickly, his gun dropping unheeded at his side. Her eyes were open, locked on his, and he saw the lips form his name, but there was no sound. He quickly got the first aid kit from the CSI silver case, putting pressure against the wound in her shoulder. Possibly punctured a lung, he thought. She was gasping for air. He knelt next to her, repeating her name softly, promising that it would be okay. She had lost consciousness long before the ambulance arrived to collect, not one patient, but two.  
  
***  
  
Horatio was sitting in the surgical waiting room at the hospital. Alexx had brought him a cup of coffee, but it had gradually gone cold in his hands, still untasted. The ME sat with him, knowing that he needed her more than the dead 5-year-old did just then.  
  
"He was going to shoot me, Alexx," Horatio said for the twentieth time. "And she hesitated to make sure I was out of the way. She would have gotten him cleanly if I hadn't been in the way."  
  
"It's not your fault," Alexx soothed for the twentieth time. "Things just happen. She knew the risks going into that house. You both did. And I'm sure she'll be okay. Calleigh's strong."  
  
"If I lost her," Horatio began, then broke off. Alexx could not know everything going through his mind just then. She realized that herself, even as she tried to understand him. She was only seeing the surface of a deep river with strong undercurrents, and she knew it.  
  
"She'll be fine," she said again. "You've been seeing each other lately, haven't you?"  
  
The doctor's voice cut over Horatio's half-mumbled reply. "Mr. Caine?" Horatio leaped up so suddenly that he dropped the cold paper cup of coffee. Alexx was only a fraction of a second slower in rising.  
  
"Is she going to be alright?" Horatio demanded urgently.  
  
"Yes, eventually. The bullet punctured a lung and cracked two ribs, but it missed the major vessels. We patched up the damage. She's lost a lot of blood, but she is a fighter. She'll be fine." Horatio nearly collapsed in relief, and Alexx grabbed his arm to steady him.  
  
"What about the girl?" he said suddenly. "The one who was brought in with Calleigh."  
  
"I don't know; she wasn't my patient."  
  
Horatio turned to Alexx. "Alexx, find out about the girl, would you? And call Speed and Delko. I'm going to see Calleigh."  
  
"She isn't conscious yet," warned the doctor.  
  
"I'm going to see her," Horatio repeated, and his eyes sharpened. Alexx patted his arm.  
  
"Easy, Horatio. She'll be fine." Her own eyes indicated her coworker, pleading rather than insisting, and the doctor glanced back at Horatio and gave in.  
  
"Fine, this way, please."  
  
***  
  
Horatio sat in a chair by her bed, watching her breathe. She was still on oxygen, the mask covering her face, the tubes and lines in her body somehow making her appear even smaller. She was still pale from blood loss. But the monitors beeped steadily, reassuringly, confirming the doctor's prognosis. She will be fine, he told himself.  
  
This time . . .  
  
Now that the immediate worry for her was lessened, the weight of the people he had lost in his life crashed down on Horatio again. His father. His mother. His brother. His best friend. All had died violently. Calleigh had been working on him gently but persistently the last few months, ever since the anniversary of his mother's death when she had discovered the burden of guilt he carried. Thanks to her, he could now see his mother's face again, could remember her in good times as well as in death. Thanks to her, he had begun to wonder if it was, in fact, a coincidence that everyone he loved died. "No one is a walking jinx, Horatio," she had told him, over and over, with such conviction that he himself had started to wonder. Maybe he could reach out to people without endangering them. Maybe his self-imposed isolation was unnecessary. So he had started to reach out, tentatively at first, but he had never completely let go until earlier this evening. For that moment, looking into her beautiful, hopeful face, he had been ready to step forward confidently, to give himself totally to someone. And only a few hours later, like a reflex from fate, she had been shot down while defending him. She had not died. On the other hand, he had not totally let her in yet, had only been ready to. Had the phone call come 30 minutes later, had he let go completely, he was certain she would now be dead.  
  
Alexx entered the room softly and stood there looking at Calleigh. "Vitals strong and steady," she said. "She'll be okay, thank God." She turned to Horatio, then stopped for a longer look at him before she said anything further. He looked even more tense and upset than he had earlier, when her life was in danger. "Hey," said Alexx, putting a hand on his shoulder. "She'll be fine. It's okay."  
  
"Right," he said with no conviction at all. "What about the girl?"  
  
"She's still unconscious. She had been given a heavy dose of chloroform."  
  
"Had she been . . ." He did not complete the sentence, nor did she.  
  
"Yes," she said with fierce regret. "That bastard. Calleigh got him, by the way. His blood was on the floor at the end of the hall. Not a disabling wound, because he was able to run away, but it's certainly why he lost interest in sticking around."  
  
"It will slow him down," said Horatio. "Notify all the Emergency Rooms . . . "  
  
"Already done," she said. "I talked to Speed and Delko. Everything is taken care of. We'll get this guy." The prospect of justice, usually a fire that drove Horatio, only lit a brief candle in his eyes this time. "It's alright," she said again, squeezing his arm. "Calleigh will be okay."  
  
His eyes went back to her still, small frame in the bed. "Yes," he said softly. "She will." And Alexx wondered what it was about his tone that suddenly frightened her. 


	2. Can't Fight This Feeling 2

"Even as I wander, I'm keeping you in sight. You're a candle in the window on a cold, dark winter night."  
  
From the song "Can't Fight This Feeling"  
  
***  
  
Calleigh was swimming back almost reluctantly toward consciousness. The fire in her shoulder was gone, but it had been replaced by a heavy, relentless ache that weighed her whole body down. It hurt slightly to breathe. Her mind fought against all these obstacles, insisting and finally winning. Her eyes opened and slowly focused.  
  
He was there, of course, like she had known he would be. "Welcome back," he said with a smile. Calleigh managed to focus on him and frowned slightly.  
  
"Horatio." Her voice was weak, and he leaned forward to hear better. "What's wrong?"  
  
"Nothing," he said. "Everything's going to be alright. You gave us quite a scare, but you're a real fighter."  
  
"How bad ."  
  
"Bad enough. The bullet punctured your lung, and you lost a lot of blood. Nothing that won't heal, though. You were really lucky." He smiled at her. "You're quite a shot, too. You got the perp."  
  
"We caught him?"  
  
"No, he got away, but you did shoot him. He'll be that much easier to catch, and I don't think he'll be molesting any more girls in the meantime. Now, though, you need your rest. Why don't you go back to sleep?"  
  
"Not tired," she insisted. It was a lie. Her slight body weighed 1000 pounds just now. She forced her eyes to stay open, to stay focused on his. She absolutely loved looking into Horatio's eyes. What was it about them now that bothered her? Her mind fought against the blood loss and the drugs, wanting to stay here for him. "Something is wrong," she whispered.  
  
"Nothing that can't be fixed." He put his hand gently on her good shoulder. "Go to sleep now, okay? That's an order from the boss."  
  
"Slave driver," she muttered as her eyes closed.  
  
When she opened them hours later, it was not Horatio beside the bed, but Alexx. "Feeling better, honey?"  
  
"Much better," said Calleigh, trying to sit up a bit. Not that much better, she reconsidered, as her cracked ribs let out a stab that echoed all the way through her lung. She lay back, accepting the inevitable. For the moment, anyway. "Where's Horatio?"  
  
"I sent him home. He was up here all night with you, and he looked dead on his feet." Alexx smiled affectionately. "And at that, after I talked him into leaving you, I had to convince him not to go to CSI."  
  
"Alexx, did he seem okay?" Her mind was clearer now, and she was certain, thinking back, that something had been bothering him. Something besides her getting shot.  
  
Alexx took time to consider. "N-no," she said slowly. "He really was exhausted, though. It's probably just the stress of last night. I think he blames himself. That's all he kept saying while you were in surgery, that it was his fault you got shot. I must have told him 20 times, things just happen."  
  
"Oh, damn," said Calleigh. He kept saying that it was his fault she got shot. She instantly saw all the layers of meaning behind that. She had worked so hard on him the last few months, and she really thought she had been making progress. "What lousy timing."  
  
"When would be a good time to get shot?" Alexx was puzzled.  
  
"No, it's not just that." Calleigh wondered where to start. She understood so much now that she hadn't even known until a few months ago. "You see, Horatio thinks he's some kind of jinx."  
  
"Some kind of jinx?" After a second, the light bulb went on. Alexx always was quick to understand people, almost as quick as Horatio was to put together puzzles. "You mean because of his parents, and his brother . . . "  
  
"And Al," added Calleigh. "He thinks everybody he loves is going to get killed."  
  
"And you've been seeing each other lately."  
  
"Right. Never really letting go until last night, when we started to. And then the phone rang, and the whole evening went down from there."  
  
"Damn," said Alexx softly, echoing Calleigh.  
  
"I have worked so hard on him, Alexx. And he was starting to believe me. But now, he'll take this as confirmation that he shouldn't let anyone close." Tears welled up in Calleigh's eyes.  
  
"Hey, now, don't be crying," said Alexx, putting a gentle hand on her arm. "You're not strong enough; you'll just hurt yourself. Listen, I'll try to talk to him myself, okay?"  
  
"Thanks," said Calleigh, and meant it. But she had the sinking feeling that no words on earth, from anyone, were going to be enough this time.  
  
***  
  
Horatio sat in his office at CSI, the phone almost attached to his ear. He was doing the sort of tedious track work that, as the boss, he could have passed off to subordinates and often did. Right now, though, he was glad of the chance to stay busy. "You're sure that no patients have come in with gunshot wounds?" He frowned at the reply. Alexx tapped lightly on the open office door, and he nodded toward the guest chair. His tone was laced with frustration. "I don't care how many times you've checked the records; go over them again. Children's lives are at stake here." He hung up the phone a bit harder than necessary. "What is it?"  
  
Alexx forced herself not to react to the edge on his mood. She knew it was directed partly toward the case and partly toward himself, not toward her. "I just wanted to check on you. You did go home and get some sleep yesterday? The boys say you weren't around here."  
  
"Yes, I went home." It was only half an answer, but he hoped she wouldn't catch it.  
  
She caught it but chose to let it slide for the moment. "I went to see Calleigh this morning. She's doing better all the time. They think she'll be out in another week or so."  
  
"I know, I went by earlier this morning."  
  
"When?" Alexx had been there herself at 7:30, and Calleigh hadn't mentioned Horatio coming to see her.  
  
"About 5:00 or so. She was still asleep, but I talked to the doctors." He had known she would still be asleep, of course. But he couldn't stay totally away, try as he might.  
  
"Listen," said Alexx, uncharacteristically scrambling for words. "I was thinking about what you said the other night, that it was your fault she got shot. You weren't just talking about the way things happened at that house, were you?"  
  
Horatio's blue eyes locked with hers, and he gave her an outright lie. "Like I said, I was between her and the perp. She hesitated on shooting to make sure I was clear before she fired. If I hadn't been in that spot, she would have nailed him." Alexx held his eyes for a minute, then backed away. She saw the lie, but she also saw that there was no way on earth she would be able to defuse this in a few minutes' conversation. Calleigh was right; it would take long, patient work, chipping away at his delusion. She could almost see the wall of his isolation between them, twelve feet tall with rolled barbed wire on top. As well as she knew him, she had underestimated his capacity for giving himself hell. She realized that now.  
  
"She doesn't blame you," Alexx said, and instantly changed the subject. Let him chew on that by himself, if he would. "Any luck tracking the perp?"  
  
"None." Horatio's hand tightened so hard on the pen in his hand that he buried the point in the flesh of his palm. "It's like he vanished off the face of the earth. What about the little girl?"  
  
"Single shot, medium range, with a shotgun," said Alexx. "It was quick, anyway." Neither of them drew any comfort from that. That little girl had seen her killer, had died in terror, and they both knew it. "The 14-year- old is awake now. Maybe she's ready to talk. Maybe you could go down to the hospital and get her statement." And see Calleigh.  
  
"She was released this morning. She was still asleep when I was at the hospital, but I've already talked to her mother. I'm seeing them at 2:00 this afternoon at her house." His eyes refocused, his anger shifting from himself to the animal who had done this.  
  
"Could I take you out for lunch first?" Alexx offered.  
  
"No, thank you. I have lots of calls to make." His voice was cultured, polite, and distant. Alexx stood up reluctantly. This was getting nowhere. He had already picked up the phone before she left the office. She stopped on the stairs outside his office and looked back at the hard lines of his face. "Damn," she repeated to herself. "Calleigh, what are we going to do with him?"  
  
***  
  
Horatio sat in the Andrews' living room, which until two days ago had been a happy place. Erin, the 14-year-old sat on the couch next to her mother. "I really am sorry to bother you at this time," said Horatio, and the sincerity reached through their grief and shock and touched a chord briefly. "But we need to catch this man before he does this again."  
  
"We'll help you all we can," said Mrs. Andrews.  
  
"Erin, had you ever seen this man before?"  
  
She frowned slightly, considering, then gave the answer he had expected. "Actually, he did seem familiar. I've seen him somewhere, but I don't know where."  
  
"Somewhere in a crowd, maybe?" Public events could be prime shopping malls for rapists to pick their next victims.  
  
"Boats," she said after a moment. "Something to do with boats."  
  
"Do you like boats yourself?"  
  
"Yes." She forgot her own violation and her dead sister for a second, then started guiltily as they came back to mind. "I go to boat shows with my friends sometimes. I think I might have seen him at one."  
  
"Can you describe him for me?" It was as close as Horatio intended to come to asking her about that night. No point in making her revisit it to provide details he had already filled in. Her description was brief but accurate. It was also enough to upset her. The wound in her mind was too fresh, still oozing blood. He would have liked to touch her, establish some contact, but he had deliberately picked a chair several feet away, and he stayed there. She did not need a strange man next to her right now. "Thank you, Erin, and thank you, Mrs. Andrews. I promise you, I will find who did this." He stood up to leave and was stopped at the door by Erin's voice.  
  
"They said at the hospital that a cop was shot, too. Is she okay?"  
  
"She's going to be fine." Gratitude flooded Horatio's soul again. She was going to be fine. Then the wall of isolation closed around him once more, and he quickly left the house before all three of them burst into tears. Mrs. Andrews looked at his lonely figure walking down the sidewalk, and for a moment, she herself felt overwhelmed with gratitude. Such a caring man, to be so gentle with Erin in getting the information she knew he needed. Then her own situation reclaimed her full attention, and she turned back to her remaining daughter.  
  
***  
  
Calleigh woke up suddenly. She was in a regular room now, feeling better every day, and waking up was getting easier. Her body no longer weighed 1000 pounds. The thing that bothered her most, though, was that she never saw Horatio. She knew he was around daily; the doctors and nurses were on a first-name basis with him at this point. But she had not seen him herself since that first morning. When she called his home, she only got the answering machine, and when she called CSI, she got the same story from several different people, how he was wrapped up completely in chasing the man who had killed Linda Andrews, raped Erin, and shot Calleigh. Now, though, her eyes suddenly snapped open, feeling his presence even though the room was dark, and she saw his silhouette in the door. He was just leaving.  
  
"Horatio!" Her voice lassoed him and pulled him reluctantly back into the room.  
  
"How are you doing?"  
  
"Much better," she said. "I'm going to be discharged this afternoon."  
  
"I know," he said. "I've kept in touch with the doctors."  
  
She struggled into a sitting position. It still hurt some, but it was getting easier. "Why haven't you kept in touch with me?"  
  
There was a moment's silence. She wished he would turn on the light; she couldn't really see him, just the shadow, and she wanted to see his eyes. "I've been really busy," he said. "This case is one of the most frustrating chases I've ever been on."  
  
"Horatio, turn on the light," said Calleigh.  
  
"No, we don't want to disturb anybody. It's only 4:00 AM." He wanted the shadows as much as she wanted the light.  
  
"When have you been sleeping?" She wondered. "You're always working this case, every time I call this week. And if you only come see me in the wee small hours. . . You're not having nightmares again, are you?"  
  
"No," he said. Life was enough of a nightmare at the moment. "I'm fine. I've got to get going now. The house was a dead end, rented under a false name, so now we're trying to find pictures of the owners of all small boats. Can you imagine that? All the boats in Miami." He was trying to get her to laugh, but it fell flat.  
  
"Horatio, it's not your fault," said Calleigh firmly. "I am not going to let you do this to yourself."  
  
He sighed, then at last met the issue squarely. "Calleigh, there's no way to make this sound right, and I'm sorry I have to hurt you. But it's not your decision to make." He turned abruptly and left. And Calleigh slid back down in the bed, feeling tears well up in her eyes. Her anger fought against them and eventually won. "I am not going to let you do this to yourself," she promised fiercely.  
  
***  
  
Speed pounded up the stairs to Horatio's office two at a time. "H, we've found it! The boat with the owner matching the description Erin gave us."  
  
Horatio was on his feet instantly. "Good work," he said. "Let's go!" He took the stairs three at a time going down.  
  
***  
  
Horatio, Speed, and Delko slipped quietly out of the Hummer. They had come in without lights or noise, hoping to catch the perp having an early afternoon nap. The berth where the boat they were after was moored was empty, though. "Damn," said Horatio. "Can anything else go wrong on this case?" Speed and Delko eyed him uneasily.  
  
"Maybe he's just out for a while," suggested Eric. "Let's wait." He cringed as Horatio swung around and nailed him to the spot with his glare. "Do you really think we'd be going anywhere else? This is the closest we've been. I'll sit here all year if I have to."  
  
"Easy," muttered Speed. "Why don't I go get us some coffee or something?" By the time he returned, Horatio and Eric had found a place to wait unobtrusively, in a small hut used for storage. It did have a window, though, facing the sea. Delko grinned gratefully at Speed as he took his coffee. Horatio was on his cell phone with the Coast Guard. "I don't want him spooked, but when he does come through, he can't get back out into the open sea. Right, thanks." He snapped the phone shut, then took the cup Speed offered him with an absentminded "thank you."  
  
Later, Speed and Delko would agree that this afternoon was the longest they had ever spent at CSI. There was practically no camaraderie, no sharing the wait. Horatio was as taut as a violin string, ready to snap, and neither of them wanted to trip over the breaking point. It was a long two hours until Horatio's body finally stiffened slightly. He was leaning against the window, scanning the water with binoculars. "This is it," he said softly. The small white boat came in from the ocean. As it got closer, they could clearly see the man on the deck at the wheel, even without binoculars. He had one arm in a sling and was steering one-handed. And Erin's description was perfect.  
  
Then, all at once, it went wrong. The boat halted in its steady approach to the dock, then abruptly spun and opened throttle. "The Hummer," Horatio said shortly as he charged out of the shack. Sure enough, the boat had turned around almost next to the parking area. He had seen the CSI insignia. The Coast Guard was on the job, though, and the perp quickly realized that he could not make the ocean again. Instead, he swung sideways, darting into one of Miami's canals which emptied into the harbor.  
  
The three CSIs leaped into the Hummer, and Horatio floored it, driving along the parallel road at a crazy speed, running full lights and siren now. The perp was driving the boat even more recklessly, and it was quickly becoming apparent that his wounded arm was bothering him more in steering at the higher speeds. The boat weaved dangerously. Speed was on the phone, and soon lights of more police joined behind them. "Tell them to keep pushing him," said Horatio, and slammed the accelerator down. The Hummer leaped like a racehorse, passing the boat instantly, building a lead. Horatio got about 300 yards in front, then screeched to a halt and leaped out, gun at the ready. He fired as the boat charged toward them, and the perp dropped instantly, crumpling in a heap on the deck, falling with his hand on the accelerator. The boat jumped like a startled deer, careening wildly. "The bridge," shouted Delko, and they all looked with horror at the bridge up ahead over the canal. Afternoon traffic whizzed along it.  
  
Horatio aimed carefully and fired, hitting the boat's gas tank. It exploded harmlessly in mid canal. They all let out a sigh of relief that stopped halfway. Down the canal the other way came a larger boat. Its pilot was an older, soft, overweight man. He stood stunned, staring at the burning debris on the water, then released the wheel and clamped both hands to his chest. He crumpled himself, and his own boat leaped toward the bridge from the other side. Horatio aimed but did not fire. He prayed instead, like the rest of them, as the boat slammed heavily into the mid canal support for the bridge. The metal screamed like a dying child, and the whole bridge shuddered. The support buckled partially, then, for the moment, held.  
  
"Eric, get that man off the boat," shouted Horatio. "Speed, with me. We've got to clear the bridge." They all leaped into action. Delko did not have his diving gear but did not care, plunging into the murky canal with as much dedication as he had once hoped to dive into the pool at the Olympics. He swam to the wrecked boat, climbed the ladder to the deck, and quickly had the owner. He was unconscious, pale and sweaty, but Eric didn't bother to render first aid just then. They had to get out from under this bridge as soon as possible. He could hear the tortured metal creaking above him. He gently slid the man into the water, jumped in himself, and quickly swam toward the shore with his human burden.  
  
Above, Horatio and Speed were clearing the bridge, people abandoning their cars reluctantly and running for safety. All but one. A large woman in the middle, directly over the crumpled support, was frantically trying to get her car's back door open. Another car had plowed into hers when the bridge started to buckle, and the door was hopelessly jammed. "Ma'am," shouted Horatio, "you have to get away from there. The bridge is going to collapse."  
  
She looked back frantically, trying to make him understand. "My baby! He's in the child seat, in back."  
  
Horatio turned instantly to Speed. "Keep everyone back," he said, and stepped out onto the bridge himself. It was quivering slightly under his feet, like the first vague tremors of an earthquake. "H," shouted Speed, then broke off. He knew one of them had to go, and Horatio was thinner. Horatio quickly but lightly made his way out to the middle of the bridge. "Ma'am," he said, pulling her away. "Get off the bridge now! I will get him." She hesitated. "Three of us weigh more than two. You can help most by getting off. I promise you, I will get him." His eyes locked with hers for a moment, and his sheer magnetism soothed her into compliance. He weighed less than she did, and three certainly did weigh more than two. Slowly, she turned and started for Speed, stumbling slightly on the trembling bridge.  
  
Horatio ignored the hopelessly crunched rear door and climbed into the front instead. The baby was fastened into a car seat in the middle of the back, fortunately away from the point of impact. He was screaming wildly in utter panic, and Horatio spoke easily to him as he reached across the front seat, unbuckling the straps. The tone worked wonders, and the boy quieted slightly. Horatio fought with the straps, thankful for long arms as he worked across the seat. He did not want to put any more weight on the rear of that car, directly over the crumpled support, than he had to. Finally, the last strap was free, and he scooped the baby over the front seat and instantly slid out of the car. The other police had caught up to them now, and they had both ends of the bridge cordoned off. The crowd on the sidelines let out a cheer as Horatio and the baby emerged, and the mother, pressed right up against the yellow tape, burst into tears of joy. Horatio wrapped the baby in both arms, gripping tightly, and sprinted through the wrecked and abandoned cars like some crazy obstacle course. Beneath his feet, though, the bridge was trembling more noticeably, and he still lacked 50 feet to safety when the supports gave with a snap and, like a many ton ax, the whole bridge, with everything on it, collapsed into the canal 40 feet below.  
  
***  
  
Awful place to leave you, I know, people, but we will finish this this weekend. Part 3 wraps it up. And I repeat, there IS a happy ending. 


	3. Can't Fight This Feeling 3

"It's time to put this ship into the shore, And throw away the oar, Forever."  
  
***  
  
Eric Delko was the first to move. While everyone else was stunned into immobility, he raced down to the edge of the canal, slightly below the still settling wreckage, and dived in, hitting the water like a pocketknife unfolding for action. Horatio had been running along the higher side of the slumping bridge, and Eric had seen him make a desperate lunge with his last fraction of footing, leaping to the right as the bridge fell to the left away from him, trying to jump clear. He could not, of course. No one could have. But hopefully he was only on the edge of the wreckage, not crushed under it. Eric swam furiously toward the collapsed bridge. The first rule of swimming was to never dive into water that was unknown or unsafe. Eric broke the rule now without a second's hesitation. His boss, his mentor, his friend was in that pile of rubble somewhere. And there was no sign of him.  
  
Eric reached approximately the area Horatio had been above and gulped in a deep breath. Then he dived, fighting to see anything through the murky canal water and the dust of the collapse. His hands ran along the edges of twisted steel girders, concrete blocks, and finally an arm. Eric grabbed Horatio under the shoulder and jerked up as hard as he could, but there was no give. He was trapped somehow, hung up on something. He was also deathly still. Either he recognized Eric's efforts and was trying not to interfere, or he was already unconscious. His own lungs beginning to ache, Eric tracked Horatio's body downwards, finally coming to where the left leg was wedged between two large chunks of concrete. Desperately, Eric fought to shift the rubble, but it took agonizing seconds. Finally, he had his friend's leg free, then rocketed back toward the surface himself, dragging Horatio along with him.  
  
Eric broke the surface of the water, sucked in one lungful of blessed air, and quickly hauled Horatio up next to him, noting with relief that Horatio still had the baby wrapped tightly in his arms. Both of them were unconscious, though. Something had hit Horatio on the side of the head, and he had an ugly looking gash along his temple. Eric rolled him onto his back, keeping both his head and the baby's head above water, and started swimming for the shore as fast as his trembling muscles would propel him, dragging Horatio along behind.  
  
The police had come to life at this point and were trying to bring order to the scene. Eric could already hear an ambulance wailing in the distance, getting closer. Speed was at the edge of the canal, reaching out to grab Horatio as Eric heaved himself out of the water. He quickly turned back and helped Speed drag the two victims back from the edge of the canal. Speed rolled his friend sideways and pried his mouth open, trying to let any water he had breathed in drain out. He tried to pull the baby out of Horatio's arms without any success. Eric joined him in the task, as did two policemen who scrambled down from the edge of the road. Horatio's arms were absolutely locked. He had gone down protecting the child with his body, and all four of them combined were having a hard time prying him loose. "Horatio, it's okay," said Speed over and over. "You can let go now." Eric wondered if anything short of breaking his boss's fingers would get his grip to loosen, but finally, with all four of them working on it, they managed, one finger at a time, to work his hands free. By that time, the ambulance had arrived, and Speed and Eric stood back, gratefully turning the case over to more knowledgeable hands.  
  
The baby looked far better than Horatio did. The child was unconscious, but his color wasn't bad, his breathing was even, and he only had a few scrapes here and there. Horatio, on the other hand, had no color in his face at all, and he seemed to be barely breathing. His hands and arms were covered in scratches, and that ugly 4-inch gash on his temple was gaping open, separated slightly from the water, yet surprisingly not bleeding much. Horatio's left ankle, the one that had been caught, flopped at an impossible angle, and one of the ambulance crew gently straightened it into more natural alignment and applied a splint. Horatio did not stir. The paramedics already had an IV started, and one of them pried Horatio's eyelids open, shining a small flashlight into them. He let the eyes fall shut again and grabbed his radio receiver from his belt. "Unit 1 at the bridge collapse," he said urgently. "We're going to need the Lifeflight over here, stat. Three victims, but one's already going by ambulance, and one's a baby, so we can fit two. And you'd better call in Dr. Johnson. This guy is going to need him." He snapped the radio back into place and turned to Eric. "You're the one who pulled them out?"  
  
"Yeah." Eric ducked away from the recognition. "Are they going to be alright?"  
  
"I don't think the baby is badly hurt."  
  
"What about Horatio?"  
  
The paramedic started to spout some meaningless answer, then stopped as Speed and Delko both met his eyes. "He's alive but unstable, and I think he's bleeding internally. If you're a praying man, I'd start praying."  
  
The two CSIs stood there forlornly on the fringes, powerless to help, as the paramedics worked over their patients. By the time the helicopter dropped out of the sky, the baby was starting to show signs of consciousness. Horatio still hadn't moved or responded to anything. Not even to his leg being shifted, thought Eric worriedly. It was 95 degrees, as usual in Miami, but as he watched the helicopter take off again, heading for the hospital with his friend, Eric started shivering. It was Speed who drove the Hummer to the hospital, while Eric got hold of Alexx.  
  
***  
  
Calleigh was getting more and more annoyed by the minute. She was supposed to be released from the hospital at 3:00 this afternoon, and just this morning, Alexx had promised that one of them would come to take her home. "Horatio if I can get him to, but don't hold your breath," she told Calleigh sadly. Now it was 4:15, and Calleigh was dressed in street clothes, sitting in the armchair in her hospital room, and still waiting for the promised ride. If there was one thing that Calleigh did not do well, it was wait. She could understand Horatio not coming, things standing as they were, but for the whole team to forget about her was inexcusable.  
  
Familiar footsteps finally came along the hall. It was Speed. "High time somebody showed up," Calleigh retorted, standing up. "Are you all having that much trouble keeping CSI going without me?" She broke off instantly as she took her first good look at his face. "What's wrong?"  
  
Speed shuffled his feet, looking at the floor. "Calleigh, Horatio's been hurt."  
  
"What?" Her knees suddenly felt weak, and she collapsed back into the armchair, barely feeling the protest from her shoulder and ribs. "How could he get hurt? I just saw him this morning." Her eyes begged him to take it back, to say it wasn't true, even while she knew he would never make a joke like that.  
  
How on earth could he sum up the last few hours, Speed wondered. "We caught the perp on the Andrews case this afternoon. He's dead. But in the middle of taking him down, the 18th canal bridge got hit by a boat that knocked the middle support out. Horatio was on the bridge when it collapsed."  
  
"My God," said Calleigh, and it wasn't a swear but a prayer. "Why was he on the bridge if he knew it was damaged?"  
  
"He was rescuing a child that was trapped in one of the cars. Everyone else was already off."  
  
Rescuing a child. How absolutely like him. "Did he get the child?"  
  
"Yeah," said Speed. "The kid wasn't hurt badly. Horatio shielded him when the bridge fell. He took the worst of it."  
  
"How bad is it?" Calleigh was almost afraid to ask. She knew that Speed was holding something back on her. His eyes met hers, and she saw that they were brimming with tears. Speed, the tough guy, was almost crying.  
  
"He got hit on the head with a piece of the bridge, and he's bleeding inside the brain. There's a torn artery somewhere. He's in surgery now. They think he might not make it." Calleigh's own eyes welled up, and Speed sat down on the arm of the chair on her uninjured side and pulled her over against him. And now, they were both crying.  
  
***  
  
The waiting room for the OR was tensely silent. Three different groups of people, brought together by the bridge collapse, huddled together in one corner. And by this point, they were all worrying about just one of the three victims. The baby had suffered only a mild concussion and a few scratches. Mr. Davis, who had collapsed with a heart attack at the wheel of his boat, had had angioplasty concluded about an hour ago and was stable. Horatio was still in surgery.  
  
Someone else switched the channel on the waiting room TV, and Calleigh looked up at it as the 10:00 news came on. "And in our lead story tonight, the 18th canal bridge was struck by a boat early this afternoon after the pilot suffered a heart attack. Lieutenant Horatio Caine of the Miami PD is credited with keeping a dangerous situation from becoming far worse by quickly clearing the bridge area before it collapsed. Lieutenant Caine, unfortunately, was one of three injured at the scene. He was trying to rescue a child when the bridge collapsed, and he was taken to the hospital in critical condition. The child suffered only minor injuries." A traffic helicopter had been in the vicinity and had aerial footage of the entire bridge collapse. The whole group in the corner fell silent, most of them actually seeing it for the first time, Speed and Delko reluctantly watching it again. Calleigh fought back tears as she watched Horatio at his unselfish best, trying to put everyone else's interests before his own. Damn it, she wasn't going to cry here in the waiting room with a bunch of strangers around. Alexx, sitting next to her on the couch, gave her good arm a squeeze. "You okay, honey?"  
  
"I'm fine. I was released today, remember?"  
  
Horatio's surgeon came into the room, looking absolutely drained, and the whole group scrambled up to meet him, Alexx giving Calleigh a little unobtrusive assistance getting up from the deep couch. The surgeon took them into a side room. The baby's mother and the boat driver's wife were still with them, but somehow that seemed alright. They were part of this situation, too, and were truly concerned about Horatio.  
  
"Well," the surgeon began. "Mr. Caine was hit on the side of the head with a piece of bridgework, and the impact tore three arteries in the brain. Intracranial hemorrhage built up significant pressure. I drained the hemorrhage and repaired the arteries. So far, the repairs are holding, and the pressure isn't building up in his head again. It's up to him, now. He also suffered multiple lacerations and bruises, as well as a fractured left ankle. We put a temporary splint on that."  
  
"Why a temporary splint?" Calleigh asked. "Why didn't you go ahead and fix it?"  
  
"He isn't stable enough at the moment. We were trying to minimize the time under anesthetic. Later, if he makes it, we can . . ."  
  
"What do you mean, if he makes it?" said Calleigh indignantly. "Listen, Horatio is a born survivor. He's going to come through this alright." Alexx looped her arm around Calleigh's, touching her gently.  
  
"I hope so," the surgeon said. "But he isn't doing that well right now. We're having a lot of trouble keeping his vitals up. He is in a deep coma. There's also the question of brain damage from the pressure of the hematoma, but we won't know that unless. . . until he regains consciousness."  
  
"Brain damage?" said Calleigh in disbelief.  
  
"Possibly, possibly not. We'll know when he wakes up. His electrolytes and chemistries are all out of whack, too, and that on top of the insult of the trauma isn't helping. He was already run down before that bridge collapse, wasn't he?"  
  
The CSIs looked at each other guiltily. "He's been working really hard this week," said Delko. Calleigh said nothing, but Alexx squeezed her arm a little tighter.  
  
"Is there anything we can do?" asked Alexx.  
  
"One thing," said the surgeon. "There's something I've noticed works with a surprising number of coma patients. It's not exact medical science, but I've seen it make a difference in many cases." The whole group was riveted, waiting for the next sentence. "Have someone he knows stay with him. Do it in shifts, but talk to him just like he can hear you. If you can keep somebody he knows well with him, I'll bend the ICU rules that far. A lot of times, when medicine has done all it can, things like that swing the balance. Just one person at a time, though."  
  
"I'll talk to him," said Calleigh instantly. "Take me to him now."  
  
"Honey," said Alexx, "you just got out of the hospital yourself."  
  
"Right," said Calleigh. "You were just telling me this morning that I was pushing it and shouldn't leave the hospital yet. Fine, you win. I'm not leaving." The neurosurgeon smiled for the first time that afternoon, and Alexx rolled her eyes as Calleigh marched after the doctor toward the ICU.  
  
***  
  
Calleigh sat in a chair at Horatio's bedside, the curtain pulled halfway, although ICU really had no privacy. She stared at his face. The gash down his temple had been stitched and bandaged. In addition, a patch of hair over his right ear had been shaved off for the incision site, and that side was heavily bandaged. His face had no color at all, and his cheeks seemed sunken in. She stroked his face gently, carefully not disturbing either the bandages on the right side or the oxygen mask. "You saved that baby, did you know that? He wasn't hurt badly, just a few bruises. Just like you've saved others. You've touched so many people, Horatio. You aren't a jinx at all. You're a walking angel." She stared up at the monitors, which didn't look any better than the last time she had looked, five minutes ago. Blood pressure was 80/40, pulse 42, respirations 12. And this was with all sorts of drugs pumped into him, trying to keep the numbers up. What frightened her more than the numbers, though, was the feeling of distance. It was like his spirit wasn't even in his body anymore. Somehow, she sensed that whatever anchor held him to life had broken, and he was drifting aimlessly. She looked at his still face again, the closed eyes. Would she ever see them alive and alight again? Even if he survived, the doctor said, there might be brain damage. Calleigh shook herself, gripped his hand tightly with her good one, and continued talking, trying to reach him. There was absolutely no response. Please, God, she prayed, her tears threatening to spill over again. He's not here, and I can't find him. Please show him the way back to us.  
  
***  
  
Horatio was wandering in a sort of gray swirling fog. He did not know where he was and did not really care. His whole spirit was gripped by an uncharacteristic lassitude. He was not sure what had happened to bring him here, but the place was quiet and peaceful. So many days since any place had been quiet and peaceful. Not since the night Calleigh got shot.  
  
"Horatio!" The voice was stern yet kind, absolutely demanding his attention. Slowly he turned, then stopped, stunned. It was his mother. "Horatio, there's something I need to show you."  
  
"Mom?" He still stood stunned, and she closed the gap, hugging him. "Is this heaven, then? Somehow I'd pictured it . . .differently."  
  
"No," she laughed. "This isn't heaven. You need to see something, though. Come with me." They wandered through the fog together, her hand in his. Something real, something to feel in this swirling mist, to hold onto. Finally, they reached what seemed to be a large screen TV standing in the middle of nowhere.  
  
"There's TV in heaven?"  
  
"I told you, this isn't heaven." She stationed him in front of it. "And this isn't TV. Look closely, now." The screen swirled to life in gray mist of its own, then centered on a small car, crunched against a tree. Horatio instantly turned away, and his mother, who wasn't anywhere near his size, spun him back around and forced him to face it. "This is the accident where your father was killed."  
  
"I know that," he said testily.  
  
"No, you don't. What I'm going to show you is a version of your life, only without you in it. So you really think that you have brought pain and death to people you care about? Look at it, Horatio. You aren't there, but the accident still is."  
  
He did look then. "The accident happened anyway? I thought I distracted him. Maybe he wouldn't have been run off the road without me." He stared at the crunched car. "Or maybe he would." The scene shifted again, this time to the tableau of his nightmares. The kitchen where his mother had been murdered, only it wasn't himself finding her body, but Ray. "You still died?"  
  
"I still died." The scenes followed her narrative. "Al Humphries was killed three months later in the raid to take down the drug gang, because you weren't there to save him. It took them three months to catch the gang because you weren't there to help. And in that three months, five other people were killed by Toro Jackson." Horatio was riveted to the screen now. He couldn't have turned away if he tried. "Ray was mentally unhinged by finding my body and by being left all alone. You held the world together for him, Horatio. Without you, he snapped. He committed suicide two years after my death." The scenes continued to flash through. "Al Humphries saved 1389 people's lives on the bomb squad. Only he never made the bomb squad; he was killed in the drug raid. Because you weren't there, those people died." More pictures of bombs exploding. "You yourself saved 1189 people's lives on the bomb squad, on top of all the ones in homicide, the future victims you saved by catching the criminals sooner. And on CSI, you've saved many more lives the same way, by getting the criminals off the streets."  
  
The screen shifted again, and Horatio couldn't help crying out. A tombstone filled the picture, but he saw only the name. Calleigh Duquesne. "Calleigh never came to Miami. She was killed in Louisiana on the PD in the line of duty, one month after you did not come to offer her a new job." The screen continued showing pictures of people, ending with the bridge collapse that day. "You think it was your fault for causing that bridge collapse by triggering that man's heart attack? He had it anyway, Horatio, only he died of it, because help wasn't immediately there. Meanwhile, your rapist still led that chase up the canal, because you weren't there to stop him. He managed to clear the bridge just before Mr. Davis crashed into it. He went on to molest 10 other children and kill 3 before he was finally captured. When Davis crashed into the bridge, you weren't there to clear it. 21 people died." The screen finished with the shot of the bridge collapse, only this time, there were people falling off as well as cars. People screaming in terror. The screen finally went blank, to come up one final time with a flashing blue number. 4182.  
  
"That's your life's score so far, Horatio," said Rosalind. "4182 people whose lives you have saved. And all of us who are dead would have died anyway. But without you, 4182 more would have joined us. You see, you really have had a wonderful life, Horatio. You've reached more people than most others dream of." He wrapped both arms around her suddenly, and she held him tightly, letting him cry into her hair, feeling the log of self- imposed guilt finally roll off him. She hung on, rocking him gently on his feet, as she used to rock him as a baby. "One more thing," she said. "Heaven is absolutely beautiful. It's full of God, and joy, and light. When you do think of us, don't think of us as dead. Think of us as happy." She pushed him back a bit, now, and dried his tears with her hand. "Remember me, Horatio. Remember me like I was. Remember me like I am." Rosalind's entire body suddenly started glowing, radiating a bright light that somehow did not hurt the eyes. She slowly faded away in a blaze of golden light.  
  
Horatio turned back slowly and stared at the screen. It still blinked 4182. "I never imagined," he said softly. Suddenly, it bothered him that he did not know where he was. He wanted to know the way back. And he knew who could guide him. "Calleigh!"  
  
***  
  
Calleigh straightened up suddenly from her weary vigil. Had she not been staring at his face, she would have sworn he had just spoken her name. His lips had not moved, and nothing had changed on the monitors. Yet somehow, she had heard it. "Horatio," she said, locking his hand tightly in hers. "Horatio, I'm here. Come back to me." The monitors overhead suddenly picked up, all values rising. "Come on," pleaded Calleigh. "Come back to me. I'm waiting for you, Horatio." His eyelids flickered and then slowly opened. It took them a minute to focus, but when he managed it, he locked them on her face.  
  
"Calleigh." He squeezed her hand slightly. Tears of pure joy rolled unheeded down her cheeks. His eyes were tired, weak, but certainly HIS eyes. Looking at him, she had no doubt that Horatio was present. All of him.  
  
"Boy, you gave us a scare," she said.  
  
"Sorry," he said weakly.  
  
"Hey, never mind. You had to go after that kid, we all understood that."  
  
"No," he said, wanting her to see. "Sorry for this week. Shutting you out. I did come every day to check on you, though."  
  
"I know," she said. "Don't worry about it, okay? Everything's alright. I'm fine. And it wasn't your fault."  
  
"I know," he said, surprising her with the conviction in his tone. "Everyone who died would have died anyway. It wasn't because of me."  
  
Calleigh sat up slightly, looking at him. "When did you come to that conclusion?"  
  
His eyes were drifting shut again, his battered body exceeding his energy. "Tell you later," he said, and she instantly agreed.  
  
"Right, just sleep now. You've been through a lot."  
  
"You sleep, too?" His eyes were totally shut now.  
  
"I promise," she said. "I am tired." She was, absolutely exhausted. "I'll stay right here, and we'll both sleep, okay?"  
  
His breathing was even, regular. She looked again at the monitors. All values normal. "4182," he said softly as he drifted off.  
  
"4182 what?" she asked, but too softly to wake him. What on earth did 4182 mean? If it weren't for the earlier conversation, she would wonder about brain damage. Oh well, she told herself, I have a lifetime to ask him. A wonderful lifetime. She fell asleep at his bedside thinking of the future.  
  
***  
  
Alexx entered the ICU half afraid of what she would find the next morning, worried for Horatio and also wondering how on earth to drag Calleigh away for a rest. She slipped over to Horatio's cubicle, then stopped. Both of them were asleep, but Horatio's right arm was over the railing and his fingers intertwined in her hair. They looked absolutely peaceful and happy. She studied the monitors with satisfaction. "I think you are an angel," she said softly to Calleigh, too softly to wake them up. Both of them needed their rest. "No," she corrected, remembering the child from yesterday, one body she would not have to dissect. "I think you both are." She stood there for a moment watching them, then turned away, and her step was light and happy as she left the hospital, heading for CSI with the good news. Everything was going to be fine. Better than fine. Everything was going to be wonderful. 


End file.
